Words Unspoken - Gerard Keay

Words Unspoken - gerard keay

Gerry isn't used to the Archives being quiet. Good thing he's got you, then.

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a/n: back from hiatus w a podcast fanfic out of nowhere. yippee enjoy

Gerard isn’t used to quiet.

He doesn’t usually get a lot of it. Not since he started working at the Institute. Certainly not since his mother started plaguing him, even before the books took her skin and soul. He’s been a Keay for longer than he’s been conscious. He doesn’t think he’s truly been at peace since he first opened his eyes.

He takes what he can, of course, bits and pieces in between the forays out into the world to find the books, the fucking Leitners, and burn them. He’s always been calmest when he can watch the pages turn into ash, crumbling away on the wind. The words inked within are twisted, vile things, bringing only ruin to those unfortunate enough to read them, but Gerard almost feels jealous when he watches them go up in smoke. It would feel extraordinary to be light enough to coast away in open air, he thinks. The weight would be nothing then. Certainly not enough to crush him whole like it does every other day.

He hasn’t burned a book in a month, maybe that’s why he feels so uneasy. He runs his fingers over the holes in his ripped jeans for the nth time that day, dark fingernails accelerating the ruin of the threadbare hems. The eye tattoos on his knuckles appear and disappear as he bends his fingers, as if they’re blinking over and over again. Sometimes, Gerard tells himself this ill-gotten stalemate in between terrors is the reason he stays here, in the Magnus Institute, in this world of fears and statements and book-burning. He can barely handle quiet when he gets a few days of it. He’d probably go mad if peace and calm became his whole life.

The door swings open behind him, and Gerard has to fight not to flinch. He’s not quite sure he manages it. In between reminding himself how to breathe, Gerard has enough time to notice the identity of his visitor. His shoulders drop a little in relief when he recognizes the even footfalls of Y/N L/N, Gertrude’s latest hire. Y/N’s another archival assistant, primarily engaged in researching statement givers. Their paths don’t always cross, but when they do, Gerard finds himself happy for it. Y/N– Gerard can’t describe it, really, what they do to him. They make him feel normal, almost. Almost, until he remembers the eldritch all-seeing overlord they serve, or the myriad disasters they catalog every day, or any other detail of their insane lives.

Y/N smiles at him, taking a seat on a nearby chair. They’re holding two mugs of tea, one of which is slid across the table to a grateful Gerard, and a few file folders full of various notes.

“How’re you?” Y/N asks pleasantly. Most find the labyrinthine underbelly of the Archives too cold and austere for words, but it never seemed to bother Y/N. The Institute, much like everything else, just seems to make them that much better and brighter in Gerard’s eyes.

Gerard takes a sip of tea to avoid answering. “I’m alright,” he murmurs at last. “A little restless, but that’s nothing new.”

Y/N hums in agreement. Not for the first time, Gerard finds himself wondering why on earth someone like them would end up somewhere like here. He could find out, if he really wanted to, could look past the pretty face and encouraging smile to read the truth like another printed line from a cursed book, but for once, he doesn’t give in to the urge. He’d rather have Y/N tell him. He’d rather be the willing keeper of their secrets, not the thief.

Y/N catches his musing stare and Gerard coughs, embarrassed to be caught, and points his chin towards the stack of file folders in their hand. “What’ve you got there? More statements?”

Y/N nods. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about them. There’s somebody, a banker out near Bradford, who’s been having weird encounters with one of his neighbours. I don’t think the banker has read a Leitner directly, but I wanted to see if you thought his neighbour might be a victim of a book. He’s been describing weird, erratic behavior, odd patterns–”

Y/N flips open one of the manilla folders and slides it across the table. Gerard leans over to take a look, his tattooed fingers tracing the lines where they point. For a few carefully held breaths, their two hands brush, and Gerard has to fight the urge to wrap his fingers around theirs and never let go. It’s a right pain to make himself focus on the statement again, especially when there’s someone vastly more interesting right next to him, but Y/N is diligently focused and so Gerard reluctantly follows suit, peering at the description of the banker’s worries.

He tilts his head to the side, considering the statement. “Yeah, might be. He says his neighbour was doing, like, weird rituals, right? Could be the People’s Church of the Divine Host, but given how closely it all seems to relate to, uh, meat, it’s probably Flesh-adjacent.”

Y/N snorts. “Flesh-adjacent?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Fine, you come up with a better way to say he’s been reanimating random corpses or bits of corpses without seeming silly. I’m just trying to help.”

He’s grinning, though, and Y/N laughs too. He likes it when they laugh. It makes him feel better about himself. Can’t be that fucked up as a person if you can make someone like that smile.

“Alright,” they say, still humored, “Flesh-adjacent it is. So you’re thinking all this stuff was started by a book?”

Gerard lifts a shoulder. “Might be. The neighbour guy’s probably learning some spells from a Leitner, thinking he’s the next big thing in witchcraft, when in reality the book is just draining his measly little soul to do it. I’ll go take a look around in a few days, see if I can track down the thing.”

Y/N’s face falls. “No, I can’t ask you to do that. It might be dangerous!”

“No, it’s quite alright,” Gerard says. “Like I said, I’ve been getting restless. It’ll be good for me to get out and do something.”

Y/N arches a dubious brow. “It’ll be good for you to track down someone reanimating corpses using evil spells from a murderous book?”

“Are you worried about me? That’s sweet of you,” Gerard teases, noting with a thrill of delight up his spine how Y/N’s face heats up when he leans ever closer to them. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Plus, I’ll run it by Gertrude first. Downright cautious. How’s that sound to you?”

Y/N flips closed the file folder, smoothing down any errant paper corners with a deliberate movement of their hand. “I guess. I just didn’t want you to think that I only came down here to send you on another death mission.”

“Of course not, I know you love my company,” Gerard grins.

“I do,” Y/N insists, their eyes rising to insistently meet Gerard’s gaze, like it was incredibly important that he know how they felt. Like it might even matter as much to Y/N as it does to Gerard. Like for once, they feel the exact same way, and it’s– it’s–

Up one floor, a door closes a little too loudly, the reverberation of the slam echoing down to them. Y/N flinches away, and just like that, they’ve both lost their nerve. Y/N stands up quickly, gathering up the folders again and their tea. “I’ll see you around, then,” they whisper, and head out, stealing one last glance at Gerard when they think he doesn’t notice.

He does notice, though, and he does notice the plaintive sigh they let out once the door closes behind them. It’s alright. He’s got plenty more chances to say what they both want to hear.

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent